


Orange Crush

by mercureletters



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Mostly because they're just going to be dancing around each other for a hundred years, Rarepair, Slow Burn, You can read most of these chapters by themselves unless stated otherwise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-02 08:34:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16783420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercureletters/pseuds/mercureletters
Summary: Louis Domingue got more than a position on the team when he joined the Lightning.Or, Victor Hedman gets a crush on Louis Domingue and Steven Stamkos is very, very tired of his dear friend Victor being like this.





	1. Crush Soda

**Author's Note:**

> This is honestly going to mostly just be quickly written snapshots made in the middle of the night after games about a rarepair I happen to like.

It wasn’t that Victor Hedman hadn’t had a crush on a teammate before. He’d grown used to the overflow of emotion, hands shaking around them, ears red and burning with nerves. It wasn’t even that it was someone with a particularly beautiful face, a sensitive scar about his old team, or the habit of getting run over by opposing players.

No, Victor considered all of that to be fair, especially since he had a habit of falling in love with that kind of man. What wasn’t fair was the fact that Louis Domingue could be just too sweet. As Louis took a seat next to Victor, he could see the sweet smile on his face, a pair of objects a little bigger than his fist tucked lazily into the top of his bag. Victor swallowed hard. He didn’t know whether to glance over or just ignore the two hundred pounds of handsomeness and kindness that was Louis.

“Hey, Heddy!” As if the universe personally wanted Victor to die from suppressing anxiety, Louis scooted closer, “I was looking for you,”

Victor pushed down the excitement in his voice, “You were looking for me? Why?”

“Yeah, you know last night’s game?” Louis asked.

Victor recalled, mostly because he came within a hair’s breadth of beating someone to a pulp for spearing Louis, “Yeah, why? We won last night,”

“Well, I was thinking about how you helped me,” Louis’ hands grasped one of the objects in his bag, “and I didn’t know a good way to say ‘thanks,’ so,” Louis pulled the orange object out, “here’s a placeholder thank you gift,”

Victor stared at Louis in silence. Of all the gifts that Louis could have picked to be a short-term gift, a Crush orange soda was not what he expected. Victor ran a hand through his hair as he considered his words, and possibly the irony that Louis chose Crush as the brand to buy. The bright grin on Louis’ face almost stung from how sweet it was.

Victor began slowly, “You… bought me… an orange Crush… to thank me?”

“Yeah, I did. Wait, do you… not like orange soda? I have a Coke too, if you-”

“It’s fine, orange is fine,” Victor balled his fists, resisting the desire to slap himself. Why did he have to act like this when Louis was being nice, as usual? “You know that we can’t have those during the season,”

“Says who?”

“The team’s dietician, Domingue, we can’t have junk food like this,”

Louis’ eyes bugged out, “Oh, right! The dietician is psychic and will kill us instantly if we go off plan one day out of the whole year!” Louis rolled his eyes, a grin still on his face as he shoved the can into Victor’s hand, “Just drink the fucking soda, Heddy,”

Victor squeezed the soda can, hands around the cold orange metal. By the tiny chunks of ice on it, Victor realized it had to be transported in a cooler. Louis had planned to bring the soda, not just snagged it at the nearest gas station on his way to the ice rink. Victor glanced around, the empty space they sat in enough for Victor. He cracked the can open, and raised it slightly. Louis clicked open the can of Coke and clacked them together.

Victor couldn’t actually taste the soda once he turned his head to see Louis take a deep swig. His mouth dried out, but he hid the rapid flutter in his chest as Louis lowered the can and smiled. If Victor had been honest, he never cared for orange soda all that much. Crush had to be one of his least favorite brands, too. However, as he shared the comfortable silence with Louis, he realized the drink tasted a bit better to his palate. The drink itself was still lackluster, but now it just reminded him of Louis.

Somehow, Victor thought Orange Crush might be his new favorite drink.


	2. Empty Net

Defeat left a bitter tang on Victor’s tongue, but it was nothing new. Victor watched the other players from his stall. In the silence of the room, the occasional attempt at a joke from Mathieu that fell flat. The tense energy in the air thickened. Hedman slowly pulled on the slacks he’d work, though he never let his gaze turn from the faces of his teammates. Steven leaned over to whisper to Kuch, and by the way Kuch’s expression crumpled and his fists balled, it was an attempt to soothe Kuch’s guilt for the penalties he took.

When Louis rose to his feet and trudged out of the room, gear bag slung over his hunched shoulder like the weight of worlds rested inside, Victor swallowed hard and collected a shirt. He pulled it on over his head and glanced at Steven. Steven dipped his head, and that was all Victor needed to see. In one fluid motion, Victor stood up and picked his hat off of the floor. Within seconds, Victor had left the locker room. Domingue was still in view down the hallway, on his way out.

Something snagged Victor’s shirt and stopped him on his way down the hall, “Hedman,” A man with a microphone tried to grab him for an interview, “what can you tell me about the-”

“I have an engagement to take care of,” Victor started, and tried to brush the hand off.

The reporter sunk his nails into Victor’s shoulder slightly, “We’d love to hear from you, I’m sure you can spare a minute,”

“I can’t ‘spare a minute,’” Victor reached over and pried the fingers loose from his shoulder, “Look, I have somewhere to be. You want a statement? Ask Stamkos for it,”

“Stamkos isn’t here right now, and we want a statement from you directly,”

“Just one statement?”

The microphone almost went into Victor’s mouth, “Just one statement, please! What would you say the problem was in this game?”

“The problem with today’s game,” Victor turned his head and cursed internally at the empty hall, Louis gone, “is that the reporters aren’t listening and have no idea what personal space is. Move,”

Victor took a large step around the reporter and rushed away from them. Maybe if he hurried down the the parking lot, he could still catch Louis. He almost knocked over one of the sports staff members, an apology called over Victor’s shoulder to her as she fumbled to catch her clipboard. He’d ask the manager who he ran into later, to apologize properly. For now, he needed to get down to the players parking area. He shoved open the stairwell door and rushed down two steps at a time until he reached the ground floor. 

The click of a trunk caught Victor’s attention first. He saw a silhouette that was all too familiar, bag missing and hands braced on the trunk, head leaned forward. Victor to inched closer, silent as he tried to assess the situation at hand. Louis’ face blanked, shoulders as still as can be as he stared at the space between his hands on the trunk of his car.

Victor spoke softly, “Domingue," 

Louis didn’t respond, but his lip twitched. Victor took a step closer, but stopped dead in his tracks as Louis’ eyes squeezed shut and his shoulders shuddered. Louis lifted his hands to the back of his head and pulled on his hair, his grip so tight that Victor worried it was his only lifeline to reality at the moment.

Victor reached out and pressed a hand to Louis’ trembling shoulder, "Domingue, are you okay?”

“Oh, yeah,” The cheer in his voice only sounded terribly fake with the way his voice quivered, “definitely. Sorry for… Sorry about worrying you, Heddy,”

Victor shook his head and sighed, the bright lights in the lot illuminating Louis’ face enough to show the tears on the ends of Louis’ long lashes. Victor held out his hand, “Give me your keys, Domingue, you can’t drive like this,”

“I’m fine, I-”

“Domingue, I’m not going to risk you crashing your car. Give me the keys,”

“Heddy-”

“Louis. The keys,”

Domingue pulled the keys from his pocket and set them in Victor’s hand, though he never pulled his gaze from the trunk. Victor wrapped an arm around Louis’ shoulder and led him to the passenger door, opened the door, and gently tucked him inside. As Victor went to his side of the car and got in, he noticed one thing that bothered him.

As Victor buckled up, he said, “Domingue, buckle up,”

“Just drive,” Louis didn’t look at Victor, nor did he move to buckle up. 

For a moment, Victor waited. Then, he reached over and buckled Louis in himself. “You’ll be glad I did when you feel better tomorrow,”

Louis turned his head to look at Victor and opened his mouth slightly, as if to protest, then snapped his jaw shut. Victor took the wheel, pulled out of the parking lot, and drove. Victor wasn’t exactly the best driver on the Lightning, but he would rather ruin Louis’ tires than find out that in his emotional state that Louis lost control and crashed.

Once the street lights were gone and Victor pulled onto the freeway, the only things that illuminated the car were the headlights and the glow of the dash. The soft red light filtered back on them, left a slight outline of Victor’s knuckles. He sped along the road, silent. 

When Victor heard Louis’ almost inaudible sob, Victor slowed the car and pulled over onto the side of the road. Without the hum of the motor, the slight hiccups and sobs seemed louder. Victor flicked on a light, and reached across to wrap an arm around Louis. 

“What’s going through your head?” Victor asked.

Louis’ voice cracked, “I did terrible tonight. I should… Shouldn’t have been…”

“You did fine,” Victor’ lip curled, “we fucked it up. You were fine, Domingue,”

Louis shook his head. “Heddy, I…” He hesitated, then tried again, “I think they’re… going to put me on waivers again,”

There it was. That dreaded word Victor hated in relation to Louis. The word sounded like acid, as Victor recalled Louis’ distress at being kept from playing, being forced to pay for his own ice time, and being virtually abandoned by his old team. They’d cut him off from all support, and how could Victor expect Louis to trust the Lightning not to.

“Domingue,” Victor rubbed his shoulder, “I know we fucked up and lost, but you’re not going on waivers. You’re not going to be on waivers like that again,”

Louis hands balled into fists on his lap, “Victor, I love Tampa. I love the Lightning,” He lifted his head, “I want to stay,”

“Then we can work on that together,” Victor pulled away, “I’ll practice with you extra, if you want,”

Louis hiccuped and tried to smile. It looked hideous. “Tomorrow afternoon, we could…”

“I’ll be there,”

“I believe you,”

The car fell silent as Louis calmed down. Victor shut off the car light, and pulled back onto the road. Louis gripped the dash as Victor swerved a bit, then settled down and loosened his death grip on the dash.

“So, uh,” Louis coughed, “where are we going?”

Victor tapped the steering wheel and smiled. “We’re going to buy some orange Crush and sleep,”

As if Victor could care much for any drink besides orange Crush when he was so in love these days…


	3. Oh Captain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steven is Tired™ part one

"Stammer,"

Steven Stamkos laid across one of the training facility benches, still damp with sweat, halfway to falling asleep. Victor knew the routine, the way Steven always took a nap right after his workout, how he refused to deviate from the routine unless it was an emergency. With his hands folded on his stomach, Steven looked comfortable, if nothing else. He ignored Victor and tried to doze off, and Victor didn't appreciate it.

Victor's love life was the same thing as life and death, right? 

Victor rocked the bench, forcing Steven awake to catch himself while Victor demanded his attention. "Stammer!"

"God help me-" Steven rolled off the bench and stood up, "Okay, I'm up, fuck you, what do you want?"

Victor let go of the bench at the wrong moment, and he winced when it topped over. Still, he had more pressing matter to attend to. "I need your help,"

"This better be important," Steven brushed a bit of dirt from his shirt.

Victor's eyes stared at Steven, half-lidded, "Steven, I can't ask anyone else. You're my best friend, so help me," Victor licked his lips, "please,"

The silence that hung in the air scared Victor. Before he could plead again, Steven found his voice. "This sounds serious," Steven's words started slow, "is there some reason you're calling me by name, sounding like you're on the edge of death?"

"I think," Victor licked his lips, "I think I'm in love?"

Steven took a long moment, then asked, "Are you sure? I mean, the last time you were... You haven't felt like that about anyone since-"

"That's over," Victor silenced Steven, "Stammer, you know how I am. I don't do anything I'm not sure of,"

"Who is it? Is it someone I know?"

Victor sucked in a breath. Steven had been with him from the start, had seen it all with him. He knew everything, from the good times to the narrowly missed Stanley Cups to the way Salo rejected him. It'd never been Salo's fault, but Steven had blamed him a bit for Victor's broken heart. He was younger then, bounced back, and Salo had his own spouse and kids, but now what could he say? What did he say when he fell in love with yet another teammate?

Victor decided that one word could do it all, "Louis,"

"Louis," Steven repeated him, "as in, Louis Domingue?"

"Yeah?"

Steven nodded, his expression more serious than it had been all year. He had no need to be when the season was going so well, but for this, he'd pushed down whatever humor he'd hoped to have. Steven looped an arm around Victor and guided him to a bench Victor hadn't flung over. As they took their seats, Steven turned on his phone and opened his notes, adding Victor onto a list with a rainbow at the top. On the list was Tyler Johnson, Ondrej Palat, Nikita Kucherov in multiple colors, and Louis Domingue's name. Mathieu Joseph's name sat under Victor's with question marks right after.

"What the hell is that?" Victor jabbed the phone.

"Nothing, nothing at all," As Steven closed his phone, he turned to Victor and asked, "So, what do you two talk about?" 

"Hockey?" Was it not obvious?

Steven sighed. "Besides hockey. We all love hockey. We would not be on this team if we didn't love hockey. We would not be in the entire league if we didn't love hockey,"

"We, uh," Victor leaned away from Steven, "don't,"

"You've never talked to him about anything else,"

"We had a heart to heart once, in the car,"

"It was about hockey, wasn't it,"

"I hate the fact you said that as a statement and not a question,"

Steven leaned back and groaned, a hand on his face. He muttered something under his breath about being worse than Kuch, then clapped Victor on the shoulder. He looked Victor dead in the eyes, his expression full of concern.

“Victor Erik Olof Hedman,” Steven spoke softly, “you are a dumb, gay motherfucker, and I hope you know that,”

Victor rolled his eyes, “Look, give give this dumb, gay motherfucker advice and you can go back to your nap,”

“I can’t go back to my nap knowing my best friend is too dumb to have a normal conversation,” Steven grinned, then leaned back on the bench and rested his hands on his stomach with his eyes closed, “Here’s my advice: talk to him, Victor, about something that isn’t hockey. Ask him if he has a dog, or tell him how much you love flying. Just establish something outside of hockey, and eventually you’ll be close enough to him to actually woo him instead of,” Steven opened his eyes long enough to look at Victor and make a vague gesture. 

Victor, naturally, gave him the middle finger.


End file.
